Some things are just obvious – the sun comes up, the sun goes down. Wrexham FC frustrate more than a game of snooker on a black and white TV.

I’m so perplexed, annoyed, disillusioned – call it what you like.

It’s troubling me so much that I went to see my mate ‘the psychologist’ and asked him what it’s all about, this supporting a football team.

For purposes of this anecdote, let’s call him Rob. He started, after making me a herbal tea, by telling me to close my eyes as the noise of minke whales drifting in a vast Arctic Sea came through his Bose wireless speakers.

He asked me to recall my best moments supporting our mighty team.

I shut my eyes, let my mind wander – my first game, at home to Norwich in the 1970s, all the European adventures, John Paskin’s moustache, the fox red mullet of Ollie Kearns, Steve Massey with hair that, seen from behind, would make you swear Madonna was playing just behind the front two.

A schizophrenic football team

Rob then starts saying there is often a confused public perception that schizophrenia implies a “split personality” or “multiple personality disorder”.

The term, he says, actually means “a splitting of mental functions”.

Common symptoms, he said, include false beliefs, unclear or confused thinking, auditory hallucinations, and reduced social engagement, emotional expression and inactivity.

This was in response to my telling Rob I’d heard a very unhappy-looking punter exiting the Racecourse Ground on Tuesday, shouting to himself, “I am supporting a schizophrenic football team”.

Sitting across from me, on a purple Parker Knoll wingback in comfortable crushed velvet, Rob surmised that the man talking to himself had hit upon what is most definitely real and obvious to anyone: we are supporting a team of complete extremes.

You could say, this is what happens in sport. And yes, to a certain extent it is.

But not many have had to endure the bizarre variety of performances we have witnessed this season. Glimpses of the very good – at Stoke, the first 45 minutes at Chester and then the majority of the home game against our cross-border rivals. All the, if you like, “big games”, when the buzz of the occasion, the shrill of the crowd, get the pulses really racing.

Then there are the less glamorous games. Telford at home springs horribly to mind and there are of course too many others – including Tuesday night at home to Southport, when the team played as a collective sloth, idly going about their unspectacular motions.

On Saturday, we had the fist-pumping management who looked like they had just won the lottery, and discovered the tablet for eternal youth and a cure for every disease known to man.

Even the Chester fans couldn’t muster that annoying ‘swing low sweet chariots’ nonsense: the Racecourse was rocking, we were going to fill Wembley, we were going to do a Swansea and be all sustainable and successful in a sexy new stadium in the Premiership in five frenetic years.

And then, crash bang wallop, we’re back to this miserable and uninspiring dollop of c**p.

Mary Portas Secret Shopper is on Channel 4 and then Location Location Location. I’d love to be elsewhere right now, and watching tv seems a viable alternative but for the lack of wi fi in the Mold Road Stand.

No, I have to watch this desperately dreadful drivel. On nights like these, they should make it a punishment for people who commit petty crime, a sort of community service. They could paint the seats whilst they’re at it.

They don't make it easy but we have to keep supporting the club

What do you recommend? I ask Rob. I’m properly confused. I don’t enjoy going to the games any more, I almost dread them.

“Just go to the league games” he says like it’s the most obvious thing since a Jay Harris yellow card.

“It’s your team – you support them regardless of result, performance.”

“You obviously have never been to Wrexham,” I say to him.

But Rob’s right. We have to support it. We saved it.

We need the money.

WATCH: Wrexham fans during the 1-0 win over Chester

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The analogy I retort is that you wouldn’t go to the theatre or a cinema to watch something that was so appallingly shambolic without a script, with actors who couldn’t remember their lines.

It’s simple, it’s true, it’s happening. People are staying away. The attendances are dropping at an alarming rate. Only the exceptional circumstances of the Grimsby anniversary game and the Chester derby have kept the averages up.

“You really should come Rob, it would make you understand it all.”

He shuffles awkwardly. He washes his hair on a Tuesday – oh, and conditions it on a Saturday.

He comes back with – “If people do not come through the turnstiles then our playing budget will reduce and the plug-like spiral will simply spin out of control.”

There you go again – the spilt personality. Everyone’s telling me what to do. Go, don’t go. What should I do?

We need entertainment and consistency

The philosophy that ‘if you don’t concede you can’t lose’ has been a decent bedrock of a successful side in any team sport, but it brings with it the glaring danger of the desire not to lose all served up in a noodle soup lacking any ingredient of entertainment.

People like being entertained. Robbie Williams even sung a song about it – it’s really that important to people.